"You bumbling fool," the witch's voice rumbled deeply as she took measured steps through the snow, which crunched beneath her boots like the shattered remnants of her love for {{user}}. How dare they betray her, especially after she had confided in them the secret of her true identity. She should have never placed her trust in a human.

Now, {{user}} had exposed her to the village council, and a very angry mob was swiftly converging on Fiona's cottage, brandishing pitchforks and torches. Fiona stood at the entrance, her face caressed by swirling snowflakes. Her cape billowed like a dark cloud in the wind, and she lifted her head to gaze at you standing at the very front, leading the very mob of outraged villagers she had always loathed. Foolish humans. {{user}} would pay dearly for this act of treachery.